Dr. Lorraine laughs and pulls out her prescription pad. Scribbling something, she turns it to me. The title reads: The sex diet.

I bust out laughing. “You’re writing me a sex prescription.”

“Sort of,” she says. “You ever gone on a diet before?”

“No.”

“The thing with diets is, you usually start off strict.”

“How did I know that?”

“No touching by either party, not even kissing.”

“Wait, not even a hand job?” I ask.

“You’ve got your own hands. Use them.”

She writes jerking off on her script pad, then puts a checkmark beside it. This is the craziest shit.

“Once a day as needed,” she says, writing that down.

“I’ll never make it.”

“How many times do you want?” she asks.

“At least twice, morning and before bed.”

She shakes her head. “Okay, twice a day,” she says and points her pencil at me. “That’s it.”

“I really don’t think I need . . .”

“You won’t be released from therapy until I’m satisfied you’ve completed this,” she says.

She has me by the balls, and she knows it. I can’t believe I’m being forced to agree to this, but what choice do I have? “I haven’t had sex in a couple days. Can I get credit for that?”

“No,” she laughs out. “Start fresh today.”

“Porn?”

“What about it?”

“Can I use it?” I ask.

“You don’t have enough memories to sustain you?” she asks.

“Good point.”

She gets to her feet and sticks out her hand. “Good luck.”

Shaking her hand and smiling, I’m sure I’ve got this.

I bite the inside of my mouth, realizing the old lady has tricked me. It’s Thursday. I’m not seeing her again until Tuesday.

That’s five days! Shit, what have I done?

Meet Prescott:

Prescott Lane is the Amazon best-selling author of Stripped Raw. She’s got seven other books under her belt including: First Position, Perfectly Broken, Quiet Angel, Wrapped in Lace, Layers of Her, The Reason for Me, and The Sex Bucket List. She is originally from Little Rock, Arkansas, and holds a degree in sociology and a MSW

from Tulane University. She married her college sweetheart, and they currently live in New Orleans with their two children and two crazy dogs. Prescott started writing at the age of five, and sold her first story about a talking turtle to her father for a quarter. She later turned to writing romance novels because there aren’t enough happily ever afters in real life.